


Aftermath

by scififan27



Series: Aftermath [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Men Crying, Nightmares, Other, Survivor Guilt, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scififan27/pseuds/scififan27
Summary: Rebuilding begins.





	Aftermath

LUKE SKYWALKER is dead. With  
the aid of the mysterious  
VULPTICES, the RESISTANCE has  
outsmarted the FIRST ORDER,  
retreating from under their noses,  
and surviving to fight another day.

Aboard the MILLENNIUM FALCON,  
the surviving Resistance members  
travel to a long abandoned GRAND  
ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC base,  
where they hope to disappear, and  
rebuild their forces.

Only now that calm reigns again  
does POE DAMERON truly  
appreciate the enormity of the  
losses at the MASSACRE OF  
Q'TAR....

* * *

The Millennium Falcon descended into the atmosphere of a planet of patchy blues and greys blanketed with clouds. Rey’s piloting was surprisingly smooth, and Poe nodded his approval.

Below the layers of clouds, the world’s mottled blues and greys resolved into several large continents separated by vast seas and oceans.

Rey guided the YT-1300 to the southernmost continent. Lower now, some of the blue patches started to resemble vast forests, rather than seas and oceans.

Rey dipped the Falcon down to skim the top of an enormous ravine. Old turrets flashed by as the freighter followed the ravine. Ahead, the ravine forked into two.

Chewbacca rumbled, and Rey turned the Falcon down the left fork. A huge durasteel door came into view. Rey stopped the Falcon in front of the durasteel doors, letting it hover on its repulsorlifts.

The Wookiee’s fingers moved with surprising speed and accuracy over the control panel, and the doors slid open to reveal an empty hangar.

Rey set the Falcon down with the slightest of bumps.

After being crowded aboard the Falcon like Naboo sardines, the Resistance were eager to get off the ship to stretch their legs, but they needed to make sure the base was clear, first.

Finn and Poe assembled a small reconnaissance team, and ventured deeper into the base. Relics of the Grand Army of the Republic littered the base, and thick layers of dust blanketed everything. Nothing had been here in quite some time. Still, the patrol continued until the team was satisfied no threats lurked within.

As soon as the all clear was given, the Resistance, regardless of rank, sprang to work, raiding and cataloguing old GAR supply stores.

Poe meanwhile, approached General Organa. “Ma’am, during our sweep of the base, we found the other hangar. One squadron of Z-95 Headhunters, four Y-wings. If we can get them all flight worthy, it gives us the ability to fight back if the First Order comes knocking. Even if we can only build a couple of working ships from the parts we have, we’ll have an advanced warning if the First Order jumps into the system.”

“Good, do what you can, Poe.”

 

Several hours later, Poe was elbows deep in the engine cowling of one of the Z-95s. Though he wasn’t qualified in fighter maintenance, he’d learned a little through pure necessity.

Other pilots with a bit of a knack for mechanical tasks pored over the other fighters, but until the technicians had finished restoring base operations, the pilots were forced to muddle through as best they could.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was something the Resistance had become used to, and in many ways was a return to the old ways of the Rebel Alliance itself.

The Z-95 Poe was working on had indicated an electrical fault in the port side of the fighter in its maintenance logs. Considering the pitting and carbon scoring around the engine cowling and fuselage, it wasn’t surprising. It looked like the fighter had taken a hit from some substantial weaponry in its last mission.

The wiring itself was likely burned to a cinder, but Poe’s bigger concern was whether the hit had damaged critical engine components. Wiring, though time consuming to replace, was relatively cheap to repair, while sourcing replacement engine parts was significantly more difficult and costly.

The ground power input was a pain in the rear to get to, crammed as it was against the fuselage of the fighter, on the underside of the wing, and rather than try to get at it from that limited access, Poe worked through the topside of the cowling. It was awkward to reach past the power converter, but at least he could vaguely see what he was doing. 

The hydrospanner slipped on the bolt he was trying to undo, and wrenched itself out of his hand. Poe pulled his hand out of the engine cowling, feeling heat bloom on his knuckles. “Stang!” he yelled.

BB-8 blatted at him.

“You try hitting your knuckles on all the stang in there, then tell me you wouldn’t swear,” Poe said, flexing and clenching his fingers, and watching for blood to appear.

BB-8 chirped a response.

Poe shook his head, and reached back into the engine cowling for the hydrospanner. He found it wedged between the components of the engine, just beyond the reach of his fingertips. “I need that hydrospanner out of there. Can you do that for me, buddy?”

Suspending himself under the Z-95 with his mag-cables, BB-8 unfastened the lower cowling, and pulled the tool out with one of his many manipulator arms.

Poe looked down through the engine. “Hey, since you’re there, can you reach those bolts?”

 

Poe collapsed into his folding cot with a groan. One Z-95 just about flightworthy, but probably not spaceworthy, two more that could be scrounged from parts from the others, and probably one functional Y-wing. They’d worked their rear ends off repairing the fighters, and his body ached from all the strange contortions he’d forced his body into while working on the fighters. Before his head had even hit the pillow, sleep hooked its claws into him.

Poe’s sleep didn't last long before he awoke to the taste of bile rising in his throat. He sprung from his bed, one hand clasped over his mouth, and raced to the refresher.

Finn jolted awake to the sound of heavy footfalls, and looked around uneasily. BB-8 wailed piteously, and rolled into the ‘fresher.

Rey was sitting on her own cot, staring at the door into the refresher, worry etched on her face. “Poe,” she called out, “are you okay?”

Finn’s stomach lurched in sympathy when the sound of wretching came from the ‘fresher. He fixed eyes with Rey, and sat up. “Should we go check on him?” he mouthed.

Rey looked as lost as Finn felt. “Poe?”

The refresher flushed, then came the sound of running water. A few moments later, Poe stepped out of the ‘fresher, BB-8 rolling close behind. Water weighted his tousled hair, sticking it to his forehead, and dripped from his nose and chin. “I'm fine,” Poe said. He sat on his cot, and tugged on his boots. “I just need some fresh air.”

Finn and Rey watched until the door slid shut behind Poe.

 

Poe strode swiftly, not particularly caring where he ended up. He blinked back tears as he walked.

Eventually, he found himself in the fighter hangar. Poe walked between the lines of fighters toward the front of the hangar.

A pair of smaller doors either side of the hangar doors stood open. Poe stepped through one of these, and found himself on a platform holding a flight guidance and beacon system. Out here, the wind howled through the ravine, and cut through Poe like turbolasers. Every step sent a spike of fear through Poe’s heart as the wind threatened to throw him off the platform and into the abyss.

At the end of the platform, Poe sat, and dangled his feet over the precipice.

The nausea that had woken him had long since faded, but tears streamed down Poe's cheeks as he clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug crescents into his palms.

With the wind carrying away sound, Poe didn't hear the footsteps behind him. BB-8 chirped at Poe.

Poe rubbed his tear-soaked face in the crook of his elbow, and snuffled, then looked over his shoulder at Leia. “General, it’s not safe out here.” His voice felt like cracked shards of transparisteel, brittle and sharp.

Leia joined Poe, sitting on the edge of the platform. “No, it isn't. Why are you out here?”

Poe clasped his hands in his lap. “I couldn't sleep.”

Leia wrapped her arm around Poe’s shoulders, and pulled him into a hug. “Because you're a good man, Poe.”

“No, I'm not,” Poe said. “I got so many people killed, not just pilots under my command, but thousands more, because if I hadn't led that attack, we could have defended the transports. The people on the transports didn't even get to go down fighting…”

Leia stroked Poe's hair while he cried into her shoulder. “You’re foolish sometimes, and reckless, but you are a good person. You care deeply about people, and you strive to do the right thing, and you don’t let the fact that it’s difficult get in your way.”

Leia held Poe until he’d cried all the tears he could shed.

Poe pulled out of Leia’s hug, and stared out over the ravine. “They deserved better,” he said, his voice firm.

Poe stood, and offered a hand to General Organa. A gust of wind threatened to throw him off his feet again. “We should go back inside, General.”

Leia took his hand, and pulled herself up to her feet.

Poe tucked her hand over his forearm, escorting her in, and placing himself on the windward side. “Thank you.”

General Organa smiled, her eyes soft. “You’re very welcome, Poe.”

**Author's Note:**

> In memory of Carrie Fisher - thanks spacemom!


End file.
